


Boiled Sweets and Cheap Cigarettes

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: Boggis and Downey spend some time hanging out together, largely on a rooftop.Or: In which Downey wonders about his own possession of a woolen hat with a bobble on it and despairs about his student's hygiene. Boggis, on the other hand, eats fries and wonders why you would not want your werewolf wife to be able to bench-press you.





	1. Chapter 1

 

So much of Lord Downey’s life was about holding onto his frayed dignity and trying to keep ahead of his hectic schedule. There were enemies to keep tabs on, meetings that he has to attend and assassins to wrangle. And then, of course, there were the students.

Spending an evening with Boggis always proved to be full of shenanigans and takeout.

At the moment the Head of the Thieves Guild was looking pleased to spend some time away from his bodyguards, apparently having decided that hanging around with an Assassin meant that no one would dare to attack him.

Boggis stomped on his cigarette, a thoughtful look on his face as they passed a filthy alley, full of smashed teacups and dead flowers.

“What was I saying, again?” Boggis asked, patting Downey’s shoulder in a companionable manner. “I’ve lost my train of thought.”

“You were telling me a story of how you escaped from the man’s house with a bag of jewels and were sliding down the snowy hill in a stolen tin tub?” Downey said, watching Boggis shoving fried potato wedges from a soggy paper bag into his mouth.

The road was pretty much deserted at this time of night. It became even more deserted when the Heads of two of the most dangerous Guilds came closer.

“That’s right,” Boggis said. “That was a time before the Guild was legal, ‘course. Lots of shouting and cursing. But no matter, ‘cos that’s when I met my wife.”

Downey looked up at the winter sky as the snowflakes did their best to coat the entire city in a sheet of white.

Potts of the Baker’s Guild had recently asked Downey how much money he’d want to assassinate Boggis, after Boggis had personally stolen his bed-frame and a lamp.  Downey could have made a long argument about the stability of the city and how influential the whole Boggis clan was, mentioning that in fact, it was Boggis’ sister who ran the show. He did not mention just how dangerous it would be to truly cross Boggis himself, because, surely, everyone knew that?

Better to have your stuff stolen than get into a fight with Boggis, a man who was rumored to personally deal with unlicensed thieves by making them into very unsightly weathervanes.

Certainly, there were _other_ rumors about how Boggis did in fact visit the poorest areas of the city himself in order to ensure that everyone paid the Guild, but was prone to accepting a few jars of jam or a dressy shirt as payment for a whole year instead of the much larger sum of money the families could not otherwise pay.

After all, Boggis was well known for having stolen everything he owned, from his carriage down to the cheap cigarettes he smoked. Who would know if a serving of stew and a pair of knitted socks were in fact so well-made that their value was rightfully as high as Boggis said it was?

In the end, Downey had settled on just saying ‘no’ to Potts and striding away in the most dramatic fashion humanly possible.

Hang on, Boggis had met his wife in the middle of a robbery?

 

“What, right then and there?” Downey asked, blinking, He dusted snow off his sleeves, glad that he was still warm despite the dropping temperature. The curry he’d eaten earlier at the dingy pub had been delicious and appeared to be doing its best to keep his body warm alongside the thick winter coat and leather gloves. Downey even had a knitted hat on. It had a bobble on it.

He had never seen that thing in his life before Vetinari had handed it over after one meeting, remarking that since it was pure black and knitted from a kind of sheep that lived on the other side of the Disc, no other Guild leader could possibly own the item.

Well, at least it was warm.

“Jumped into the tub,” Boggis said, having spent the time Downey had been watching the snow fall eating his fries. “She was new in town, and werewolves weren’t exactly popular at the time.”

“Stole you away, did she?” Downey asked, taking a bite of the garlicy fried bread that had accompanied his curry and he’d wrapped in a handkerchief and stuffed into his pocket for safekeeping. No use wasting that, not when it was this good.

“Yeah,” Boggis said in the dreamy voice of a man so in love with their spouse that the thought of them still should have somehow generated pink hearts around their heads. “You are the only one who has got that right. Potts asked me if I’d stolen her!”

“Aha,” Downey said, beginning to make his habitual way up the stairs so they’d eventually reach their favorite rooftop. For a moment Boggis looked outraged that a non-thief should kidnap another person without a license.

“And when I told him that she’d carried me from the scene of the crime he asked me why anyone would want a wife who could bench-press you!” Boggis ranted. “Why would you _not_?”

“A question I cannot answer,” Downey said, reaching the rooftop and waiting until Boggis had too. “It’s a mystery for the ages.”

Boggis nodded, satisfied. He accepted a boiled sweet from Downey without any hesitation, popping it into his mouth. He did the same with almonds and biscuits.

They took a seat on the rooftop, where Boggis uncorked a bottle of cheap whisky and handed it over, only to uncork at bottle of hot sweet tea and take a swing.

Downey looked over the rooftops around them and crushed the urge to shout at one of his students who was running at top speed across a slippery bit to make sure that they were careful. That would only end in the student being alarmed at the sudden noise, horrified at being discovered by their teacher and the falling to the ground.

“No shouting,” Boggis advised, wiping his mouth. “Just let the kids run.”

“Hm,” Downey said.

It was rather unfair that Boggis didn’t have to worry about his students being really smelly all the time. Students at his school for thieves appeared to have the motto of ‘a stinky thief is a caught thief’ and some of them appeared to heat water in a dented kettle and sing a song about cleaning their lockpicks and faces before going out to steal an entire chandelier. But it had to be said, the man did make a good cup of strong tea and was pretty much always down to wander around the city at night.

 

“Are you going to put Lipwig’s head on a spike if he keeps stealing things without a Guild license?” Downey asked, taking a swing from a bottle. In the dark, they looked much the same. This was the one with the tea.

“If Vetinari will let me have it,” Boggis shrugged.

“Perhaps it is for the best that Lipwig’s kept on his toes, so to speak,” Downey mused, as Boggis folded the greasy paper bag and put it in one of his pockets before lighting a fresh cigarette.

Vetinari had looked smug, glancing at the way Lipwig made sure to pick a chair as far away from Boggis as possible.

“I’m not too worried,” Boggis said, who had spent most of his time before the meeting with Vetinari earlier that evening cleaning his nails with a razor and speaking to a very pale Lipwig in the voice of a man who was very, very used to punishing those who crossed his Guild. “The city always adapts.”

“That it does,” Downey said, accepting a cigarette and lighting it.

Smoke curled toward the sky.

Below, the city whirred away as the two men kept talking until dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

Boggis stole the Master of the Assassins on a dreary Monday evening, right in front of his students. No one reached for a dagger or very illegal crossbows. Instead they watched in interested silence as a very under-caffeinated Downey only nodded as Boggis took his shoulders and steered him towards the nearest cafe. Had Mrs Boggis been with them, Downey suspected that he’d been picked up like a sack of potatoes instead and carried to their destination.

Downey had a mountain of papers to grade and spent his time walking to the cafe estimating the price he’d ask for if asked to assassinate the various well-to-do people making their way down the street. It was a good exercise, one that he recommended to his students.

He was wearing his woolen hat with the bobble on it, because someone had to teach the children the value of wearing suitable clothes in such cold weather and make a fashion statement at the same time. It was just his civic duty.

Parents looked at him approvingly whenever he wore it. Vetinari did too, but perhaps that was simply an acknowledgement of how stylish it was.

“How much would someone actually have to pay you to kidnap me properly?” Downey asked as they sat down at a mysteriously vacant table and the staff tapped at the Thieves Guild badge on their wall, indicating that they had indeed paid their share this year.

Boggis just pointed at the sort of teas he wanted, indicated that he wanted large mugs and their most expensive dessert.

All around them, people were sipping their coffee and eating scones heaped with cream and slathered with strawberry preserves.

“A lapful of diamonds?” Downey continued, aware that he was as close to slouching in his chair as a gentleman could be. “A long-lost treasure beyond value?”

Boggis snorted, more amused than offended.

“As if there is a price high enough,” he said, accepting a mug of tea that appeared to have been stewing for days. “Besides, what would I do with you other than something like this?”

“Hm,” Downey said, resisting urge to inhale his tea. “I have the feeling that if you’d kidnap someone like the Postmaster, he wouldn’t get this kind of treatment.”

“You don’t rob people,” Boggis said, waving the sugar spoon like a conductor’s baton. “You just kill them. We’ve always been clear about that boundary.”

“Indeed, we have,” Downey said, looking at the horrible scars on Boggis’s hands. They were faded and some nails were missing.

The city was so much easier to live in these days.

 

Two separate kettles had been placed at their elbows, alongside an assortment of sugars in delicate bowls as well as a pitcher of cream.

Downey sipped his tea while he watched Boggis slowly pour half a bowl of sugar into his tea and then top it off with the faintest splash of cream.

Warmth flooded Downey’s mind like water from a pitcher. If he managed to grade the papers tomorrow morning, he’d have a few hours to take care of his orchids and walk his dogs.

Two plates with two slices of upside-down mango and ginger cake appeared on the table, fragrant and still steaming. The slices were surrounded with candied ginger. A few seconds later a tiny plate with fresh mango slices cut up to resemble a flower showed up too.

“I nabbed a cartload of fresh ginger once,” Boggis said, popping some candied ginger into his mouth. “My wife eats it raw after her workouts.”

Just last night Downey had seen Boggis running down the street at top speed after a large werewolf, looking like he was having the time of his life. He settled for nodding as Boggis finished his tea with a satisfied expression of a person who never has to pay at a certain restaurant.

“I use ginger in my classes,” Downey said, poking his slice of cake with the spoon before deciding that it was most likely sprinkled with poison and opting for eating the fresh mango instead. “It has many medical benefits that the students need to know about.”

 “There are many ways to inhume a person with some ginger at hand, then?” Boggis asked, shoveling the rest of the fresh mango into his mouth. He’d poured cream over his slice of cake and his spoon hovered over the whole doomed mix.

“Certainly,” Downey said, sipping his tea. “Your slice of cake hasn’t been poisoned. Observe how mine has the faintest sprinkling of what appears to be almond powder but yours does not.”

“You know who’s trying to get you?” Boggis asked, staring at the slice on Downey’s plate.

“Of course,” Downey said. “He’ll be dealt with.”

“I’ve found us a new rooftop,” Boggis said, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief after eating the cream-soaked slice in three bites. “The view is quite something.”

“Let’s get going, then,” Downey said.

And they did, disappearing as soon as they stepped into the fog.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: #quiet night - may i present Lord Downey who doesn't believe in having quiet nights in unless they are with his plants and his dogs.

Downey had just put the cap over his hair, which was busy being deep-conditioned when the window of his office opened and Boggis slid inside with practiced ease. The newly washed dogs looked up at the sight, wagged their tails and then continued sleeping in their luxurious baskets.

“Good evening,” Downey said, stepping away from the basin of hot water that had been vastly improved by delicately scented bubbles and rose petals.

“Evening,” Boggis replied, holding up a tin tub and a proper looking thief’s sack. “I thought I’d join you, if you don’t mind. You are always telling me about the importance of having a quiet night in and there’s never truly an chance to do so at my place-”

“Have a seat,” Downey said, making a gesture that he hoped looked grand. “Fill your tub with hot water.”

“Promise not to poison my tea, then?” Boggis asked, carrying his tub over to the small bathroom. He’d left the sack on the floor beside Downey’s chair.

“Indeed,” Downey said, rummaging through the sack to find a flask of still-hot tea and a selection of nail polish bottles. “Do you promise not to steal my dogs in return?”

“Yes,” Boggis said over the sound of running water. “I will not steal your dogs or your plants or your fancy soap or your spouse.”

“Good,” Downey said, putting his feet into the basin and leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t know you liked nail polish, Boggis.”

“I didn’t know that the Head of the Thieves Guild in Quirm was engaged to your former boyfriend until I got a letter from them this morning,” Boggis said, carrying the tub towards Downey and putting it down. “We all live and learn.”

“We do,” Downey said, pouring a tap-full of bubble bath liquid into Boggis’s tub. “Some of my students have been experimenting with putting all kinds of poisons into perfumes and nail polish.”

“Besides,” Boggis said, sighing as he accepted a tin full of moisturizer and began rubbing it in. “Gender is a social construct.”

“Hm,” Downey said as Boggis took off his sturdy boots and striped socks to reveal scarred feet with missing toenails which were almost immediately hidden by the bubbles as he put his feet into the water. “Dog-botherer mentioned something similar last week.”

“My nieces wanted someone to practice on,” Boggis continued, selecting a deep pink nail polish bottle. “But I liked focusing on just doing this little thing at the end of the day.”

“Having something just for yourself is a good thing,” Downey said, taking the bottle from Boggis’s hands. “May I?”

“Sure,” Boggis said. “My wife got me this one. Said it was good to try to branch out from the blues and greys.”

“It does match that handkerchief you wear with your best suit,” Downey said. “Perhaps the next time you put that on your could wear this color on your nails as well.”

“That’s a good idea,” Boggis said as he watched Downey delicately painting his fingernails. “The students barely blink when they see me wearing this, you know. We’d have been hunted down when we were their age if we’d done something like this.”

Downey looked up to see that Boggis’s was looking at the rose petals on top of Downey’s bubbles in the basin as if they were the answer to several complicated questions.

“Not today, though,” Downey said with a smile. “It’s a different city than it was. Not that it would be a good idea to try anything with us.

“Very true,” Boggis said, waving his hands around so that his nails would dry quicker. “Very true.”


End file.
